After a six-month hiatus, post October 7, Air Canada finally resumed non-stop flights to Israel. It was the only airline in Canada to fly directly to Ben Gurion. El Al used to fly direct from Montreal and Toronto, but stopped a few years ago.
The first trip out was on April 9 and I eagerly was on my way for a month of quality family time, volunteering and celebrating Pesach. Previously, I had come to Israel for a granddaughter’s bat mitzvah right after Rosh Hashana (time-sensitive blood work necessitated me leaving after Rosh Hashana and not earlier) and I had booked a return on October 3, as it was cheaper to fly Chol HaMoed.
Thus I wasn’t in Israel on Shabbat Simchat Torah. I returned home on my scheduled Air Canada flight, although it was delayed ten hours, which didn’t make sense since I had gotten a text saying the delay would be four hours. Usually, on these transatlantic flights, they know when the plane will arrive once it’s airborne. But unlike the hundreds of Canadians who were returning after Yom Tov, and whose flights were canceled, my delayed flight was a mere inconvenience as I didn’t have to anxiously scramble to find a way back to Toronto.
Why the frequent trips? Two of my kids made aliyah almost three years ago. While I still have the wherewithal to travel, I do. In Yiddish, there is a phrase, “chop arein,” which kind of means, “go for it.” The translated and more familiar Latin version would be, “seize the day.”
In the ensuing weeks after October 7, my kids kept on mentioning how relieved they were that I wasn’t in Israel during that nightmarish time.
But I was in Israel, that motzei Shabbat, just days after I arrived, when 300 Iranian missiles and bombs had been launched and were on route to Israel. It would take several hours for them to arrive, and no one knew what the outcome would be.
Sleep was impossible because of the loud fighter jets crisscrossing the skies above us. My concern was that I’d have to deal with jet-lag all over again. I had arrived on Wednesday, and now I’d have to start all over again.
And then, there were ear shattering booms. My daughter-in-law rushed into my room, probably thinking I was overwhelmed with fear and cowering under the bed. But I was busy texting my son in the States, where it was still Shabbat, that we were baruch Hashem all fine. I wasn’t sure if we’d lose power or Internet, so I sent frequent updates. My daughter-in-law seemed surprised that I was calmly texting. I did ask her what the extremely loud explosions were, and she told me that was the Iron Dome intercepting missiles. I was curious why the sirens didn’t go off, and she explained that the missiles were miles away so there was no need for the sirens and running into the mamad, their fortified safe room. I was rather glad about that since it’s my teenage grandson’s room, and it would be a rather tight squeeze with nine of us amid his sefarim, and Star Wars Legos and models.
So I happily got to “sleep” in my bat mitzvah granddaughter’s room, which she had generously given over to me. Both my daughters-in-law admitted that they were surprised by how calm I was during this act of war. In fact, they thought I’d be quite distraught. Yet I seemed so serene. Because I WAS serene. When my daughter-in-law had come to check on me when the Iron Dome exploded the missiles, and asked how I was doing, I truthfully said, “There is no other place I’d rather be than here.”
It felt so right to be where I was. I was HOME with my family. Come what may, this is where I was supposed to be. And I fully embraced this belief.
When I had time to think about it, I realized that my calmness and acceptance of the dangerous reality I was in was based on the many “close calls” I had over the decades, in which I could have been seriously injured or died. Something as common as a cut finger can lead to a deadly sepsis and infection. Giving birth can have devastating consequences. But Hashem had very kindly gave me “years.”
We should cherish daily the fact that we all are recipients of Hashem’s chesed. And that when tragically, someone is niftar young, we should not refer to the death as untimely. Because our Heavenly Father has a plan. And like in Monopoly, some lucky players get a “get out of jail card.” They are released sooner to the Real World.
In previous columns, I’ve been very upfront about having been diagnosed with cancer three times, starting when I was 39. I’ve had thyroid cancer twice, ten years apart (although my entire thyroid had been removed the first time – so go figure I had it again). Currently, I have been dealing with bone marrow cancer – formally known as multiple myeloma for almost seven years, which included a stem cell transplant six years ago.
I have constant hakarat hatov to Hashem for decreeing both that I survive and, that I always felt relatively well throughout my cancer journey. You know the saying, “You don’t look Jewish.” People, when made aware of my medical history, give me a look as if to say, “You don’t look “cancer-ish!“
I share this with you so that if you or someone you are connected with does get this dire diagnosis, don’t let the words destroy you. There are many of us living full lives in spite of those mutated Hamas-like cells trying to destroy us internally.
A barrage of over 300 missiles and bombs launched by Amalek – why worry? Hashem had me covered!
